Page 17 of He's the One

“I’m covered in dust. You’re going to get dirty,” Col said.

“Do you think I care? Lock the car. Come inside.”

She ushered him in and once his boots were off, she pushed him up the stairs into the lounge and the reassuring aroma of home, and cornmeal porridge. His dad came over to hug him.

“I need a shower,” Col said.

“Sit down and have a cup of tea first,” his mum told him.

“How was work?” his dad asked as Col sat down.

“I got let go.”

“Oh no. Oh Col.” His mum looked as though she was going to cry. “What happened?”

“My boss said he didn’t need all the team for the next job.” Col shrugged. “I was last in so the first out.” He’d sound paranoid if he said what he suspected.

“You definitely need a cup of tea.” His mum patted his shoulder.

Col would rather have had a coffee, or even a beer, but…

“You’ll get another job. There’s always a need for stonemasons.” His dad sat next to him on the couch.

“Stay with us until everything’s sorted,” his mum called. “Treat it like a holiday. You never take a holiday.”

Col glanced through the window at the grey sky.

“Pretend the sun’s shining,” his dad said.

Col didn’t care whether it was shining or not. He was home with people who loved him and at that moment, it was all that mattered.

Reality didn’t leave him in peace for long. He’d thought he’d just be able to walk into another job, but that didn’t happen. Being turned down for the five jobs he applied for hadn’t helped his state of mind. It was unlike him to feel so miserable, but he’d not even been asked to go for an interview, or email photos of his work. There were very few carving positions out there, but he’d take anything except for cutting names into headstones.

Over the last few days, his mum and dad had done everything they could to cheer him up. But in trying so hard, they made him feel uncomfortable. His mum had cooked the Caribbean meals and treats he’d loved as a teenager. Pineapple chow, Gizzada—delicious coconut tarts that Col couldn’t resist, spiced plantains, Pepper Pot and callaloo.

His dad kept asking what Col would like to watch on the TV when Col knew full well that in trying to please him, his dad would miss his favourite shows. Most telling was that his mum hadn’t asked him to do any chores, not even to pass stuff to her that she could have reached out and picked up herself. A West Indian thing.

He wanted them to be normal with him, to tell him off for leaving his shoes in the wrong place, for putting his outdoor stuff on the bed, or for not washing up, but he wasn’t behaving normally, so he understood.

Col took his daily walk down to the sea, sat on the sea wall and stared out at the water. It was yet another grey day, the clouds thick and heavy. With no sun overhead, the water looked sludgy-brown and uninviting. Walking on the beach didn’t appeal though this was a beautiful golden stretch in better weather.

Currently, the wind was whipping at the sand, driving it along in ankle-biting streams, but currently biting no one. Not even dogwalkers were out. Nor had the mobile coffee shop turned up. Not that Col ever bought a coffee. It was even more important to save money now.

He was wondering about looking beyond stonemasonry. Do bricklaying for a while or retrain to do something completely different. Carving stone could stay a hobby. He felt bad sponging off his parents. He’d tried to give his mum money but she’d refused to take it. Job Seekers Allowance was an option, but he’d never claimed benefits and didn’t want to start now.

At least there’d been no more calls from Robert’s wife, and no calls from Robert either, and even though Col had blocked his number, that had surprised him. Robert didn’t like to lose and Col hadn’t thought he’d just let him go. Though maybe making him lose his job had been his parting shot.

Col tried to sneak quietly into his room when he got back to the house, but his mother called him.

“Col! Come up. We want a word.”

That didn’t sound good. Col took off his shoes, hung up his coat and dragged his fingers through his hair before he climbed the stairs. She handed him a cup of tea and pointed to the couch. Col sat.

“You’ve moped long enough,” his mum said.

Col frowned. Were a handful of days long enough to get over eight months of being lied to? Eight months of thinking he was in love and that he was loved in return? Plus, the five rejections? Though it did worry him that he was still bowed down by disappointment and hurt. Snapping out of his disappointment had proved harder than he’d thought it would be.

“You’ve got to do more than apply for a few jobs and go for long walks,” she said.

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